


Until the Unmaking

by elesssar



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Halls of Mandos, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Valinor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2016-11-12
Packaged: 2018-08-30 12:59:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8534014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elesssar/pseuds/elesssar
Summary: Tauriel departs Middle-earth in search of peace - and maybe, just maybe, in search of her long-lost lover as well.





	1. Preface

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this fic several years ago, all in one go when I was on holiday. It was inspired by a picture which I've now lost - I deleted the blog that I had it saved on. However, I reblogged it way back when and in the tags wrote that I had written a 12k fic based on it, and the artist messaged me and asked to read the story. I told them then that it wasn't ready, and unfortunately now don't know how to contact that artist! So if you ever see this, artist who drew that picture of Fili and Kili rowing to Valinor and Tauriel coming out to meet them - this is for you!

The stars glittered in the deep night like jewels encrusted on a gown of velvet, and prior to this, prior to now, Kíli would never have thought them beautiful. Distant, they were, to his mind – they could not be held or polished, they were worth nothing compared to real gemstones...but that idea, perhaps, was a Dwarves interpretation. Now, however, he knew that the stars were at least as precious to Elves as any jewel that could be mined from beneath a mountain.  
“This,” said Tauriel, raising a hand and pointing with her fingers, so slender compared to his, at the brightest star in the sky, “is that star which we call Gil-Estel. There is a myth surrounding it which I find to be particularly beautiful.”  
“The mythology of starlight,” Kíli murmured softly, turning his head on the soft ground to look across at her. He heard her breath hitch ever so slightly as she, too, turned her head on the ground to look at him.  
“Yes,” she said softly, “the stories of the stars are as old and as rich as we ourselves. There is truth in the stars – there we have stories, whereas there is nothing left for us on this earth but regret and the empty passage of time.”  
Kíli didn’t like it when she spoke this way, although he knew that everything she said was true. He didn’t like to be reminded that she would live forever, had lived already for thousands of years. It made him feel finite.  
“But,” he said then, “do you regret... anything? You’re still here.”  
“I am,” Tauriel agreed, “I have chosen not to leave Middle-earth, and for every elf it is a choice. We are here because we choose to be, we are here still because our love for what we have here is too strong for us to steel ourselves to never see it again.”  
“The forest.”  
“And you,” Tauriel said, and her eyebrows furrowed slightly.  
“You love me?” Kíli asked, for clarification, a smirk playing across his lips. He knew, of course, that she loved him. He just liked hearing her say it.  
“I love you,” Tauriel affirmed, shifting slightly closer to him.  
“And I love you,” he said, rolling properly over onto his side now. With the hand not pinned underneath him, he reached across and brushed his fingers across the planes of her face. She closed her eyes, and Kíli revelled in the exquisite beauty that he could call his.  
“It is strange,” he said, “the way that life works.”  
“Ilúvatar’s song is so,” she replied, and then a shadow of a frown passed across her face.  
Kíli knew why, and he felt a twinge of... sadness? Bitterness?  
“So as far as the creation of the world goes, I’m an accident. That’s okay. I can live with being an abomination, because at least I’m alive.”  
“Don’t say that,” Tauriel cried, sitting upright and fixing Kíli with a fierce glare. “You are not an abomination – don’t say it, even in jest!”  
“But I’m not wrong,” Kíli said, “am I? I shouldn’t exist.”  
“But you do,” Tauriel said, and pulled him to her.  
Kíli had thought that Dwarves loved fiercely, but he had known nothing of the passion of elves.  
He could feel it, in the way that she held his hand, in the way that she danced with her bow and her knives, in the way that the she stared in silent rapture at the stars. In the way that she kissed him.  
He had learned that elves loved with every fibre of their being, and he could only hope to ever match her fervour. It was, he supposed, a sign of their age. Time had left the elves with nothing but their love, and it was all that they had to give back to the world that held them.  
And Tauriel, in turn, had learned the same of the dwarves. To her it had always seemed that life was ephemeral, and could only be lived in pursuit of love and that which is beautiful, which were often one and the same thing.  
‘It is our fight,’ she had said to Legolas once, and he had understood the subtext in her words. They remained on Middle-earth because they chose to be – always the way west was open to them, and they had the choice of leaving this world forever. But they had not; they were here for a purpose, to love the world and to protect it.  
But never, in all her long life lived within the borders of the woodland kingdom, had she considered the feelings of those other beings alive within the earth. Not immortal, they must live in the moment in a way that elves never would – and there was beauty in that, she decided, as she lay upon the grass revelling in Kíli’s touch and listening to the air finding passage within his lungs.  
There was beauty in the way in which they loved, these other living things, because their love was all that they had, in an entirely different way.  
Soft against hers, the touch of Kíli’s lips drew her away from her reverie and into the moment. Still without opening her eyes, Tauriel felt for Kíli’s waist, pulling him against her so that she would feel the warmth of his body – and he was always so warm – radiating against her. She then threaded her fingers through his hair, short and soft, eliciting a soft gasp.  
I love you, her heart beat in a rapid tattoo, I love you I love you I love you.

“We all have a choice,” said Kíli later, as they sat braced against the chill of the night under a blanket that Tauriel had brought from her home.  
“Not, I think, in everything,” Tauriel said, resting her cheek against the top of Kíli’s head. He was idly playing with her hand which rested in his lap. “Some things are decided long before they can ever come to pass, and so they do, and in these things even those of us which have been blessed with free will have no control, nor any choice.”  
“Like what?” Kíli asked.  
“Like falling in love.”  
“Star crossed lovers?” Kíli asked, amused, and Tauriel smiled.  
“I am not familiar with that term, but it sounds like an accurate one.”  
“It means two people whose fates are crossed, you know? Like destiny, or something. No choice but to fall in love... and the term is often used to describe couples who beat ridiculous odds, so it probably is pretty accurate.”  
“Star crossed lovers,” Tauriel tried the phrase in her mouth, found she liked it, “yes, I think that is perfect. The fates of some have been decided; who they love, they have no choice. It is destined to happen.”  
“Do you think we were destined to happen?” Kíli asked, and Tauriel detected a note of uncertainty in his voice.  
“Yes,” Tauriel said with surety, “because, and I’ll be honest with you, I did not think that I would...well, I did not think that love would ever be something that happened to me, let alone with a... well...”  
“A dwarf,” Kíli laughed, the deep rumble of his voice bringing Tauriel a strange comfort, although against what she did not know.  
“Well, yes,” Tauriel said, and she laughed too. “It’s so strange, and so against the grain of everything that has become customary for our cultures. Once, long ago in the Elder days, the Dwarves and the Elves existed in harmonious friendship. The west gate of the dwarf kingdom of Moria is inscribed in Elvish runes, and the password spoken to enter is in my tongue – did you know that?”  
“No,” Kíli, surprised, looked up at her, “I honestly didn’t. How do you know that?”  
“I’ve been around for a long time, Kíli,” she said, “not since the Elder days – but long enough to have eavesdropped on many important discussions.”  
Kíli laughed then, long and hard, and Tauriel laughed too, partially just because one found it hard not to laugh when Kíli was happy. His laughter was infectious.  
“Do you think we’re not the first then?” Kíli asked a few moments later, “the first unconventional dwelf couple.”  
“Dwelf?” Tauriel repeated incredulously.  
Kíli squirmed a little, slightly shamefaced and Tauriel laughed. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders she held him tight until he relented and laughed again, reaching up to hold onto her arm.  
“Does it sound that silly?”  
“Yes, my love, the word ‘dwelf’ is ridiculous.”  
“Well, still,” Kíli said, “do you think that maybe we’re not the first? If elves and dwarrow used to be so close...”  
“I’ve never thought of it before,” Tauriel said quietly, “but possibly we are not. We elves have few stories of love found between our people and those of other races – but just because we have no songs of such love doesn’t mean that it did not exist.”  
“I’m going to believe that it did,” Kíli said stubbornly, and Tauriel smiled.  
“I envy you the ability to choose what to believe,” she said, and in response to her somewhat sad words he turned around and kissed her fiercely.  
“I,” he said as he pulled back, looking her directly in the eye, “have to choose what to believe. Your people have been around for thousands and thousands of years, Tauriel – you’ve seen your beliefs in action. I haven’t. History doesn’t exist for me the way it does for you, and I think that, combined with all the experiences I’ve had in my life allow me the right to be able to choose.”  
“Of course,” Tauriel said, and lifted his hand to her face. She pressed a light kiss against his rough palm, and he closed his eyes and sighed.  
“And I’m not normal,” he continued quietly after a few moments of peaceful pause, “I was raised on the road. I never had a home,” he opened his eyes again and looked her in the eye. “My brother and I... we’re different to other, older dwarves. We didn’t grow up with their strict culture, their ideas of society or propriety. You know, I never knew dwarves and elves were supposed to hate each other until I was about 60. I tried to have a chat with some elves we ran into on the way to the Iron Hills – they were taken aback but seemed willing enough to have a conversation in stilted Westron, until much to my surprise mum appeared out of nowhere, grabbed me by the ear and dragged me off back to the caravan, scolding me in Khuzdul all the way. ‘You don’t understand,’ she said, ‘those are elves. We don’t associate unless we have to!’  
“I thought it ridiculous, you know? That I couldn’t do what I wanted; talk to whomever I wanted, just because of some dumb societal regulation. The same applies here – I don’t find the idea of loving you, or you loving me, to be anything other than normal...if, yeah, maybe a little unconventional. People like Thorin and I guess, yeah, my mum even –they’d be horrified. But that’s because they believe what their society taught them, that elves are awful. You just told me that dwarven and elvish societies actually weren’t always that way. Don’t you see? I have to choose what to believe, because what I know of life and love is so different from that of, well, basically everyone I know!”  
Kíli took a deep breath as his tirade came to an end, suddenly realising that he’d been talking his feelings out more than he had in years. Tauriel had listened to his whole speech wearing an unreadable expression, but when he finished she nodded gravely.  
“Yes, love,” she said, “I do see. You’ve made your own rules all your life and you’re not about to stop doing that now, with...well. Now there’s Erebor, now you have a chance to have a home...you’re not about to let that stop you.”  
“Yeah,” Kíli nodded, face sombre, “yeah that’s about right.”  
“I understand that,” Tauriel said, and kissed him. She tasted of earth and wine and something that Kíli thought might just be starlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My knowledge of Tolkien lore is sketchy at best, so there are probably things which I've got a little wrong in this story. Hopefully they're small and insignificant, but feel free to correct me on any little details! Anyway, I've missed writing fanfiction a lot - I haven't really written anything in quite awhile, but I missed these two a lot. When I went looking for this fic on my computer and reread it, I realised that actually I did want to post it after all. For anyone that saw the life and times of Tauriel - that was supposed to be an extended rewrite of this. Since I'm posting this after all, I ended up deleting that one. Oops.


	2. Part I

Silence. That is all that she knows now, silence. Oh, there is sound, it is there, but Tauriel cannot hear it. She stands on the banks of the river, looking out across the churning water, and thinks of time gone by. The leaves in the forest are green now, a vibrant dark shade that reflects the mossy earth. In the time, before, she would have felt as elated and fresh in this season as the earth itself. But now she can’t bring herself to feel joy.  
“Tauriel,” Legolas says, and this is not the first time he’s had to prompt her back to attention today. She’s on the verge of breaking.  
“I can’t do this anymore, Legolas,” she says quietly, but inside her head she is screaming.  
Legolas, her oldest friend, extends a hand to her, resting it against her back and she allows her knees to weaken, collapsing against him not because she needs to, but because she wants to.  
“You’re fading,” he says to her, and she knows that his heart is breaking but then again, so is hers.   
“I know, Legolas,” she says, “I know.”  
“I don’t want you to die, Tauriel.”  
She looks up at him, and he’s staring down at her with an expression of sadness, of pain, of the bitter regret that has become the definitive emotion among the Elves in the years since the fading of the Elder days.   
“I don’t want to die either, Legolas,” she says, and she’s not lying. She doesn’t want to die, because death seems so final. She’d lose herself, then, truly. “But... I told you once, of the way that all Elves have a choice.”  
Legolas nods darkly, because he knows what she’s trying to say. It hurts to hear her say it.  
“We choose to remain in Middle-earth because the love that we feel for our home is too strong to turn away. But, Legolas – the love that I hold for Mirkwood, for you and for your father, for our people and our land...it’s no longer enough.”  
Legolas bows his head so that his forehead rests against hers, and she holds him close to her.  
“I’m afraid, Legolas,” she whispers, “I’m afraid of leaving this behind.”  
“But you cannot stay anymore,” he says.  
“I cannot,” she agrees.  
So much time has passed, and the seasons have come and gone and around her, life has gone on. But a dark force is amassing in the east, and Tauriel knows that if she doesn’t go now then she may not reach the sea before she fades. And she has not long left – she must go now. The forest has changed little in the 45 years since the battle of the five armies. Many lives have come and gone, but it is the life – the loss of the life – of only one that still haunts her.  
She doesn’t say his name anymore, but she keeps it within her. It is hers now and hers alone, since none now alive loved him as she did. His brother, too, passed in the battle, and his uncle Thorin, the King under the Mountain. Tauriel met his mother only once, and she had looked at Tauriel blankly, for Dís knew nothing of what had passed between her son and this strange elf standing on the side of the road. And then, only a few seasons before, Tauriel heard the news that the dwarrowdam had passed. Now she and she alone must bear this grief, and bear it for all eternity until the unmaking of the world.  
“The mountain,” she says now to Legolas, who raises a tear stained face to look at her, “it’s too close. I cannot escape it, and every time I see it, it only reminds me...”  
“I understand Tauriel, I understand,” Legolas says soothingly.   
“I’ll miss you,” she says, her breath catching in her throat.  
“But you will, one day, see me again,” he says, and she sighs.   
“One day soon,” she agrees, “we shall see each other again in the undying lands. Take care of the forest for me.”  
“Until the day I pass across the sea,” Legolas promises.

And so Tauriel goes. She says goodbye to the forest, to the land that she loves and has known all her life, and then leaves the borders and begins her journey across the mountains. She’s halfway across and a chill wind is blowing snow in all directions when she turns and looks back. She is high on the plateau, and around her there is nothing but rock and ice – but in the distance there is a dark smudge on the horizon.  
Home, she thinks, but not for me. Not anymore.  
Onwards she goes, across Middle-earth, once the home of the Elves but not for much longer.  
She meets many of her kin, staying with them for awhile. It brings her comfort, to know that she is not really alone. They sit one day on the floor of a small wood, feasting and talking quietly.   
“I’m nostalgic for what has been and shall never again be,” one of the elves at her side says, and Tauriel nods.  
“Aren’t we all?” she says, and there is a silence amongst the departing.   
And then one day, much to her surprise, they come across the borders of the Shire.   
“This is where the Halflings live,” she says with surprise, stopping to stare across the green land. In the distance she can smoke rising from chimneys set deep underground, and a wave of melancholy strikes her.  
“We travel through this land,” her companions say, “and from here south to the havens.”  
“Hobbits,” she murmurs, “I know a hobbit.”  
“You do?”   
“During the battle of the five armies... a hobbit named...Bilbo. He travelled with...with the company of Dwarves that set out to reclaim Erebor.”  
The elves murmur knowingly, although some give her strange sideways looks as if they are beginning to suspect something, but what this something is Tauriel doesn’t know.   
“I should like, I think, to visit him” Tauriel says, and leaves her companions in search of Bilbo the Hobbit.   
She is leaving Middle-earth, but she cannot resist this one last opportunity to reach back into the past.   
“Excuse me,” she says to the first hobbit she says, who gapes at her in open shock, “but would you be able to tell me where the hobbit Bilbo lives?”  
“Uh,” the hobbit says, still gaping blankly, “I... Mr Baggins, is that who you’re looking for?”  
“I suppose that must be he.”  
“Well, he, uh, he be living in Bag End, under the hill in Hobbiton just down that a way...”  
“Thank you,” Tauriel says, nodding at the hobbit, who still seems to be in a state of complete shock as she leaves him behind. She suspects that the hobbits here will be talking of her visit long after she has left the shores of this world. The thought is bittersweet.   
She is directed twice more, until she finds herself standing outside of a round green door. With a deep breath, she raises her hand and knocks firmly.   
“Just a minute!” A voice calls from inside, and she uses the pause to look around at the garden. It is beautifully kept, filled with pretty flowers that are beginning to wane as autumn approaches. On the door, she thinks that she can see a Dwarvish rune, hidden under several layers of fresh paint, and a bitter sadness twists its way up from her stomach to her throat as she realises that this must be the mark left on the door by Gandalf all those years ago.  
“Yes, hell – oh,” Bilbo says as he opens the door. The hobbit is older now, but he barely looks it, and he is staring at Tauriel in shock.  
“Master Bilbo,” Tauriel says, and bows. Haltingly, he bows back to her.  
“May I come in?”  
“I... of course,” Bilbo says, stepping away from the door and allowing Tauriel entry into his home. The ceiling is not high enough for her to comfortably stand, so she bends her knees and leans forward slightly. The hole itself is beautiful, sumptuously decorated and clearly warm and cosy.  
“May I, er, offer you anything to eat or drink?” Bilbo asks, still clearly nonplussed.  
“I am not hungry,” she says, smiling at him, “but any wine that you may have would, I think, be quite appreciated.”  
“Right, yes,” Bilbo says, nodding to himself a little, “wine... Er, have a seat, in the parlour there,” he says as he turns toward what she assumes is the larder, and he points to an open door nearby. Tauriel slips into the room, and makes herself comfortable on a chair that is, thankfully, quite large enough to support her.  
Bilbo returns a few moments later with two bottles of wine and two glasses, and lays them out in front of her. Without speaking, he pours them each a glass and raises his to her. She lifts hers slightly in acknowledgement, and then drinks.  
Then, she puts her glass down, and begins to speak.  
“I am sorry, Master Bilbo, you probably don’t know who I am...I’m sorry for calling on you with no warning like this, I had to ask several folk that I passed where you lived...”  
“You are Tauriel,” Bilbo says, nodding at her. There’s a strange look on his face, as if he’s remembered some old story, and his eyes are glittering. “I met you, once... more than once, if you count all the times I almost ran into you when I was sneaking around your kingdom invisibly.”  
“Yes,” Tauriel laughs, “I have always wondered just how you managed that!”  
“It’s a tale, to be sure,” Bilbo says, leaning backwards in his seat a little, “would you like to hear it?”  
“I would,” Tauriel says, and listens in wonder as Bilbo recounts the tale of his time in the woodland realm, and his exploits with the ring.  
“Amazing,” Tauriel says when he has finished, “It has always infuriated Thranduil, you know, the way those dwarves escaped. What he wouldn’t give to know how...”  
“Ah, well,” Bilbo says, smiling merrily, “you can tell him when you return! I’d love to be able to witness his reaction!”  
Tauriel’s throat tightens.  
“Yes,” she says sadly, “I’m sure his reaction would be quite something to behold.”  
Bilbo’s smile falters a little.  
“Are you...are you not going back?”  
“No, Master Bilbo,” she says softly, “I am leaving Middle-earth.”  
“Oh,” Bilbo says, and she feels his sadness almost as keenly as she feels her own.  
“Does it make you sad?” she asks him, a little confused, “that the Elves are leaving the world?”  
“It does,” he sighs, “I have always loved the Elves – I can speak Sindarin, you know – ever since I was a young hobbit, I’ve been fascinated by your kind. The easy grace, the...the majesty, if you will. I hate to imagine a world in which Elves are not present.”  
“Oh, me too, Master Bilbo,” Tauriel cries, “me too! But...alas.” Her voice and face fall, and she looks down into her lap. “I do not feel as if this world is my home any longer.”  
“Because of Kíli?” Bilbo asks shrewdly, and Tauriel looks up sharply.  
The hobbit is scrutinising her sharply, his little face bearing an expression of wryness.   
“You knew?” she asks, astonished, and Bilbo laughs.  
“Oh, we all knew! Even...even Thorin,” and now it is his face that falls, “at the end.”  
For a long while, Tauriel doesn’t speak.  
“Yes,” she sighs eventually, “I am leaving because of Kíli. I find it hard to live in a world in which he is not present.”   
To her surprise, Bilbo reaches across the table and boldly takes her hand. He is looking at her with such sympathy, such sorrow. It is comforting to her, that he knows. That he possibly understands.   
“The world will be poorer without you,” he says quietly, “but it is poor enough without the brightness that Fíli and Kíli brought.”  
“You miss them, too?” she asks, voice almost a whisper.  
“I miss them all,” Bilbo says, “Fíli and Kíli and … and Thorin – and the dwarves that haven’t passed but live happily still in Erebor. I miss the adventures I had. I miss the time gone by...but yes, I miss them. They were so full of life.”  
“Everyone is, until they die.” Tauriel says wryly.   
“I hope that you may find peace, Tauriel,” Bilbo says, raising her hand to his lips it kissing it gently, formally, because he feels (as does she) that this is goodbye.  
“And I to you” she says, and stands carefully.  
“I hope that we may meet again, Tauriel!” he calls to her as she walks down the road. She turns back to him. He’s standing at the gate, and she can see that he is crying.  
I am sorry, she thinks, to have reawakened his pain. But then again, this sort of pain never really goes away.  
“I think,” says Tauriel, “that perhaps we shall.”

And onward Tauriel goes, leaving behind the Shire and Bilbo Baggins, with his knowledge of things outside of that which other hobbits could possibly comprehend. Down to the coast she ventures, and as she stands on a cliff top looking down at the Grey Havens she can hear and smell and taste the ocean on her tongue. For the first time in her life she feels the call across the ocean. But, though Valinor calls her home, she turns her head and glances off into the distance. She cannot see the Misty Mountains from where she stands now, but she knows that in the distance Mirkwood lives on holding all that she loves bar one, and further still Erebor stands ... and the kingdom must be poorer without Kíli to liven its halls.   
She must only wait a month for the ship to be ready, and the leaves are orange and beginning to be loosed from the trees as Tauriel steps onto the ship. As it sails away from the harbour Tauriel refuses to take her eyes off the shore. She is leaving now, forever. This land that held her people for so many thousands of years is now strange to her, and all that she loves is being left behind.  
At the stern she stands crying, until the tears that blur her vision obscure nothing but water, and Middle-earth is lost to her until the unmaking of the world. 

The sky parts and becomes as clear as glass, and the ship sails on. Tauriel rises and stares, because this is nothing like what she expected. Bathed in a silvery bright light, the undying lands stretch as far as her eye can see. In the distance, on top of a great hill, a majestic city stands gleaming. The water is still and gentle now, and the pure white shore approaches. On the beach stand many of her kin and Tauriel cannot help but feel her heart lift. Her gaze flits across their faces, and she recognises none. These elves could have been here for one season or thousands, but they are all beautiful. This is their home, as it is now hers.  
As she steps from the ship, her hand brushes against that of a silver-haired elf, who turns to her with a smile. They are kindred, Tauriel can sense instantly, because in her eyes there is a deep well of sadness.  
“Do you miss Middle-earth?” Tauriel asks her, and the other elf bows her head.  
“More than I can say,” she replies, “and I left those shores and sailed here in the second age of that world.”  
“I am Tauriel, of the Woodland Realm east of the Misty Mountains,” Tauriel says.  
“Celían, of Hollin,” the other says, and Tauriel smiles.  
“So it is that every Elf who comes here leaves all behind, but gains those that came before,” Tauriel says, and Celían nods, a sad smile playing across her serene face.  
“So it is,” she agrees. 

Tauriel leaves the shore, and walks slowly up the hill behind the beach. A strong sense of displacement is settling across her shoulders, and although the land beneath her feet seems to sing of her homecoming, her eyes keep returning to the horizon from whence she has come. Life here is desolate, she thinks, for the same reason that life on Middle-earth was. It is because Kíli is not here.   
Tauriel’s feet wander the land, and although she is no longer fading, she does not feel quite in touch with this world. It is safe, here, to drift as the Elves of the Elder Days walked Middle-earth. She walks freely, through forest and glen, city and river and across the vast coastline. How much time passes she does not know, until one day she is standing on the beach when another ship comes into sight. There are more people than usual milling about on the shore, and she asks a nearby watcher why the beach is so crowded.  
“The rings are returning to Valinor,” he says, “and by the blessing of Manwë two that are not Elves are approaching our land.”  
An unknown feeling leaps to her throat and she turns toward the sea, peering closer at the boat. In it, she sees the Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel, gleaming with the strange brightness that comes of their power. And there, too, stands Gandalf, but he is no longer grey. Clothed now in flowing white, he is surveying the undying lands with a smile. Beside him stand two small figures – one that she doesn’t recognise, and another that she does.  
Bilbo stands towards the starboard side of the ship, gazing at the shore with a look of pure wonder. He seems younger than he ever was when Tauriel knew him, and without knowing what she’s doing really she starts walking into the water, heading out to meet the ship. Bilbo spots her, and his face breaks into a wide grin. The other hobbit at his side looks vaguely confused, but Gandalf is smiling indulgently.   
“I knew that I would see you again,” Tauriel says as she reaches the boat, walking alongside it now as it comes in to rest.  
“I did too, I think,” says Bilbo, reaching out a hand to her. She takes it, helping him from the boat.  
Seeing Bilbo now has awakened in her a new kind of hope – Legolas should be here someday soon, and then she will not feel so alone. The elves still leave Middle-earth, but they are not all gone yet.  
“I’m so glad to see you,” Tauriel says, and leans down and hugs the hobbit.  
He hugs her back, laughing, and they turn back to the people still emerging from the boat.  
“Uncle?” The other hobbit prompts, and Bilbo turns back to him.  
“Ah, Frodo, my dear,” Bilbo says, “this is Tauriel...she’s an old friend. This, Tauriel, is my nephew, Frodo.”  
“At your service,” Frodo says, bowing to her. Tauriel laughs and bows back.  
“At yours,” she says happily.   
“Tauriel,” Gandalf greets her, and she turns to him, holding out her hands which he takes gladly.   
“Mithrandir,” she says, and he laughs.  
“It’s been a long time,” he says, and she nods gravely.  
“If...I may ask...” she says haltingly, and he raises an eyebrow at her.  
“May you?”  
“How... how is...”  
“How fare Legolas and Mirkwood?”  
“Yes,” Tauriel says, relaxing.  
“They’re fine,” Gandalf says, and then he smiles slyly. “It may interest you to know that Legolas has struck up an unlikely ...or, perhaps, not so unlikely friendship with a young dwarf named Gimli.”  
“If that so?” Tauriel asks, and then she laughs again.  
“I suspect,” says Gandalf conspiratorially, “that you may have influenced him in this respect.”  
“I can only hope,” Tauriel says, and the part of her not given over to grief is singing. 

She accompanies the party on their journey to Manwë’s halls, and Tauriel is somewhat nervous. She has never ventured into the mountains in search of the Valar, and many years have now passed without her doing so. On their journey, the hobbits Frodo and Bilbo tell her of their adventures and the fate of Middle-earth after she left it, and it both strengthens her regret and lessens it to hear of the ways of the world which she has left.   
When they reach the great doors of the halls, however, they all fall silent.  
“This is not my place to be,” Tauriel says, and Gandalf agrees with her. She steps back a little as Bilbo and Frodo pass her. Bilbo looks back over his shoulder at her, a small frown on his face.  
“I shall see you soon, Bilbo,” she promises, “after all; we have all the time left in the world.”  
Bilbo nods, and passes through the doors which shut behind him. Standing now alone, Tauriel’s heart feels again heavy. With a sigh, she turns east and begins to walk.   
It does not take her long before she comes to the gates of Lórien, home of Estë. She does not think before she enters, she merely walks through the gate.  
The orchard is a paradise. The soft mossy ground reminds her of the soft earth in the Mirkwood forest, but here under these soft dappled trees she feels less sad to think of her home long gone behind her. Instead she drifts through fragrant flowers, the sounds of life from the birds and insects all around her. She walks too close to a tree that reminds her of the oaks in her forest, and her hair snags on a briar. With an irritated sigh, she reaches behind her to attempt to untangle it, but she is stopped by the touch of cool hands on her wrists.  
“Do not worry,” a musical voice that belongs to no Elf says behind her, “I shall do it.”  
Tauriel waits for a heartbeat as gentle hands lift her hair clean from the thorn, and stroke it back into place. At last, Tauriel is able to turn.  
Although she has never until now laid eyes upon her, the figure behind her is undoubtedly Estë. She seems to glow from within, ephemeral silver, and Tauriel can feel the power radiating from her. She curtsies low; not looking up until Estë raises her gently.  
“You are young,” she murmurs softly, “so young to be so sad.”  
“It is the curse of immortality,” Tauriel replies, “we bear our sadness wherever we go.”  
“Perhaps,” Estë says, and then gestures to Tauriel. “Walk with me. We shall talk.”  
Tauriel falls into step beside the Valar, and they walk for a time together in silence.  
“I know of your sorrow,” Estë says as last, and Tauriel looks at her in surprise. Estë notices this, and laughs.  
“Do not be surprised, young one,” she says, “I come from the council of Manwë. The hobbit and Elf-friend Bilbo Baggins told us your story.”  
“My story,” Tauriel murmurs, “although he knows but a part of it.”  
“He knows the most important part,” Estë says, and Tauriel agrees.   
“I never thought,” she says, “up until the moment when I knew it, that death is so final. Immortality immunises one to the thought of... loss. But then, standing on that battlefield... such a waste.”  
The pain rises and crests and Tauriel falls to her knees, pressing her palms to her eyes to block all light from entering.  
“Living things were dying all around me. And it should have been no different from any other battle – it ought to have been no different. There was an ocean of black blood, and legions of goblins had died to give rise to this sea. But it was not just defeating the enemy, it was about saving....saving him. And I failed.” She looks up at Estë, whose face is hidden in shadow.  
“I thought... he was so young. You said to me that I was too young, to feel such sorrow. Compared to him I was... I am, ancient. He had so much life, for one who was dying from the minute that he was born. I was fighting; I was fighting with Legolas, my dear friend Legolas. We stood on a rock, shooting arrow after arrow... the men of Dale fought to our east and the legions of Mirkwood were just behind us, and then we saw the great doors opening, the doors of Erebor. The earth was stained with blood. Everything paused, just for a heartbeat, as Thorin led his companions out. I saw Kíli. He looked so fierce. And only the night before, we... I knew.  
“And I left the rock, and I fought my way over to them, and Kíli saw me. He smiled at me. We were covered in the blood of our enemies and I still loved him; he loved me. And then...I was there, I was stood there; I could have reached out to touch his face we were so close. The white orc appeared, and Kíli and Fíli tried to fight him off, to keep him away from Thorin. I sent arrows towards the orc too but I was overcome. I turned away only for a minute to fight off a pair of goblins, and when I turned back they, he...”  
Tauriel can say no more. This is the first time in many years that she has spoken about what happened, and if she had hoped that the time would make the shock and horror and grief fade, then she was wrong. Time does not affect Elves in such a way.  
She presses her forehead to the soft peaty earth and wails, because all she can smell is the blood, all she can hear are the screams and cries of battle, and all she can see is Kíli’s broken form on the ground, his unseeing eyes open to the thunderous sky.   
Beside her, Estë kneels on the earth of her garden, and places a hand on the weeping Elf’s back. Softly, almost silently, she begins to sing, and after a few moments Tauriel feels the pain lessen enough so that she can sit. She rises, and Estë reaches across to wipe the tears off of Tauriel’s cheeks.  
“Sleep, young one,” she whispers, and immediately Tauriel feels lethargy descend. “Lie here and rest,” Estë continues, and Tauriel complies, lying down with face pointing towards the heavens, where the same stars that she once watched with Kíli glitter in the sky.   
“Rest,” Estë whispers, and brushes a hand across Tauriel’s face, “I shall wake you when it is time.”  
With a deep sigh, Tauriel gives in to sleep.


	3. Part II

Whether it is one year that passes until Tauriel wakes or one thousand, she does not know. All that she is aware of is Estë’s touch on her face, and then she is awake.   
She sits slowly, and looks over at Estë, who in turn smiles.  
“I said that I would wake you when it was time,” she said, “and so I have.”  
“Time for what?” Tauriel asks, but Estë only smiles.  
Tauriel gets to her feet and follows the Valar back through her garden. At the gate, she turns back to Tauriel.  
“I did not speak before you slept, but I shall tell you this now,” she says, “although the Dwarves were not included in the song of the Ainur, they still came to exist. Ilúvatar forgave Aulë for his transgression of creation, and allowed the Dwarves to live on Middle-earth as his own children. Blessed they were with the free will that defines those good creations from the bad of Melkor, who came after and sought to control Middle-earth. It is not known to us who dwell and rule here what happens to the men, the second children of Eru, when they die. It is, however, known to us what happens to the dwarves that were the creations of Aulë.”  
Tauriel’s heart is beating fast, and her breath is caught in her throat. Although thought of the battle is now soft and faded, her memory of Kíli is still vivid.  
“When a Dwarf dies, his body decays, but his soul travels to the halls of Mandos,” Estë says, and she is smiling at Tauriel. “There, he is in the control of Aulë. It is in my knowledge, however, that Aulë known to them as Mahal allows his dwarves to sleep until their role in the rebuilding of the world that Ilúvatar has promised them. The halls of Mandos are located here in this land, the undying land of Valinor. You have left all you love behind, Tauriel, some of which has passed now over the sea to join you. Legolas is waiting for you on the coast, and has been for many years. You were not ready until this time, and I told him as such, but now he knows that you are awake and he looks with anticipation to seeing you again. The soul of that which you love most, the dwarf Kíli, also resides here on Valinor. It would, I believe, be in your interests to go to the halls and prostrate yourself before Aulë. He cares only for the happiness of his people, and should one soul be made eternally happy by your presence, then so be it.”  
Tauriel doesn’t know what to say. Tears are falling from her eyes, and she can’t find the words to express her gratitude, but Estë does not need to be told.  
“I feel your gratitude, young one,” she says, and rests a hand on Tauriel’s shoulder, smiling at her. “Now go,” she says, “your friend is waiting for you.”

And so Tauriel takes her leave of the garden of Lórien, running down the mountain to the coast, where Legolas is waiting for her. She throws herself into his arms, holding him tight.  
“I missed you,” she says.  
“I missed you,” he says, stepping back but still holding her by the shoulders.  
“You look so alive,” he tells her, and she smiles.  
“I’ve been asleep for a long time,” she says, and Legolas nods. “You have a lot to tell me.”  
“I do,” Legolas says, and then he laughs.  
They sit together on the beach for a long while, as Legolas tells her of everything that happened in the world since she left it, and of the fellowship of the ring and his friendship with Gimli.  
“I hated him, at first,” Legolas admits, “but then we were in Lothlórien, the last remaining part of the world where the Elder days seemed still to exist, and I was reminded of you. The leaves of the mallorn trees were gold, and I thought of Erebor and all that came of that ill-fated quest for gold. I thought of your love for Kíli, and I was able to move past my prejudice.”  
“And well that you did,” Tauriel says, smiling at her friend, whom she has missed so much, “because you brought Gimli here when you crossed the seas.”  
“I did,” Legolas says, and then grimaces, “I feared that they would not let him pass into the undying lands... but I feel that Lady Galadriel had some influence in the decision of the Valar to allow him to stay.”  
“I am glad,” Tauriel says, reaching over to take Legolas’ hands. The two sit in silence as the light fades into night and the stars twinkle into vision in the night sky above.   
“Have you seen Frodo and Bilbo, since you arrived?” Tauriel asks him then, and he laughs.  
“I have! Bilbo told me that the ring was that which enabled him and the dwarves to escape from Mirkwood! I only wish father could hear the story.”  
“Will he not come?” Tauriel asks, eyes searching her friends face. Legolas sighs deeply.  
“No,” he says, “I think not. He is king there, and will be for many hundreds of years more in our reckoning. And perhaps one day he will fade away entirely. I shall never see him again.”  
“I am sorry,” Tauriel says, and Legolas looks into her face.  
“I know,” Legolas softy, and then suddenly he stands, pulling Tauriel to her feet. “Now,” he says, “the entire time we have been talking you have been yearning to visit the Halls of Mandos – Estë told me what she told you. I know you want to go. So go.”  
Legolas is smiling widely, and for the first time Tauriel allows herself to hope. Maybe, maybe, maybe.  
“Thank you, Legolas,” Tauriel says, and hugs him tightly.  
“I shall see you,” he says, and Tauriel nods.  
“Although I don’t know what will happen... at least I know that we are no longer separated by the sundering seas,” she says.  
“It is a great comfort,” Legolas says, and turns to go. Tauriel, in her turn, begins the long walk to the Halls of Mandos.

It is a lonely place. The great door is set into the side of a mountain, and Tauriel thinks it fitting that the souls of the Dwarves should come here to rest. The doors are immense, twice the size of the gates into Erebor, and elaborately worked of mithril. Reaching up a hand, she lightly brushes a finger against the hard silver. To her great surprise, the doors jolt at her touch, and swing slowly open in silence. Tauriel pauses in the doorway, as she cannot see at all what lies ahead of her. But then, quite unbidden, the image of Kíli pops into her head.  
She remembers the night they spent lying on the edge of the hill, looking up at the stars and talking. She remembers now the intensity of his dark eyes as he told her that he had to choose what to believe, and it is almost as if she is relieving the moment.  
She can hear his voice, see his lips moving to shape out the words, and feel the warmth of his body all around her.  
Without tarrying, she steps through the doors. Walking slowly into the darkness, she is aware of nothing around her except the door slowly shutting behind her. There is only silence, and darkness, and the feeling of being surrounded by vast and insurmountable space. She doesn’t speak, she just walks.  
Finally, she sees a spot of light before her, and heads towards it purposefully. All at once, the light rushes towards her and then past her, and she is standing in a vast hall. Built of the stone from the mountain, it is lavishly decorated. She is dwarfed by it, and the columns extend in every direction as far as she can see. The floor is silver and when she looks up, far off in the distance, the thinks that the ceiling may be made of gold. She knows that she is still alone, so she walks to the nearest column to have a closer look. It is carved in great detail, and seems to be telling a story, or part of a story. There in front of her is an image that she recognises – that of a tomb. Above it there is a carving of a pair of dwarves working at a forge, and above that she can just make out what looks like many dwarves dancing. She walks around the column, examining it, and then walks to look at another one.   
No two columns are the same, she discovers. Each column tells a different story, and it suddenly occurred to Tauriel that each of these pillars represent a dwarf who has come to rest in the halls. Somewhere in this hall almost beyond measure is a column depicting Kíli’s life.  
Now that she is aware of it, she feels drawn. She can feel Kíli’s column, in the distance, calling to her, and so she walks. Her feet fall silent on the soft silver floor, and she drifts as if a ghost up and down and across the vast floor. Wondering for a foolish moment if she is, in fact, a ghost, Tauriel raises her hands in front of her. Her skin seems to glow with a strange golden light, but her hands look solid enough. She tilts her head to one side, allows the swinging curtain of her orange hair to fall in front of her. It is just as bright as ever.   
And then, in the distance, through the curtain of her hair, she sees it. There is nothing about it, from this far away, that marks it as being any different from the others, but she just knows. She starts toward it at a quickening pace that turns to a run, and when she eventually reaches it she halts her run by putting her hands out to touch it. Something seems to spark beneath her fingers as they make contact with the cool stone.  
There in front of her is a carving of the great battle, and she can see the white orc. Her fingers idly trace across it, down to where Kíli and his brother Fíli are carved, and across to where... she is. Carved in the lowest right hand edge, a figure that is unmistakeably her is standing with bow drawn, shooting at the white orc. Her heart in her mouth, Tauriel walks to the left to the other side of the pillar. She recognises the 12 other Dwarves from the expedition – and look, there’s Bilbo! – and she turns the corner and there she is again. She and Kíli, carved on this pillar, lying on the ground and looking up at the stars. Their head are turned to each other, and despite the gift of Ëste, she feels acutely the loss of what was.   
Tauriel slides down to her knees, hands out in front of her, touching the part of the column where Kíli is carved.  
“I remember this,” she whispers, not trying to fight back the tears that pour down her face, “I am haunted by this every day. I wish that we had had more time.”  
She doesn’t know if she’s speaking to the column, to his memory, or to his soul wherever it may be, but she speaks aloud nonetheless. Leaning forward, she rests her face against the cool stone of the column, her hands still stroking pointlessly at the unyielding stone. And then, quite suddenly, she is not alone.  
She looks up and around her, and finds that she is no longer in the hall, although she is still cradling Kíli’s column. Instead, she is kneeling in a smaller room with a lower vaulted ceiling, and the walls are encrusted with thousands of precious jewels. A fire crackles in a hearth, and beside it a high doorway opens to a massive room which, although it is dimly lit, Tauriel knows to contain a forge. Standing in between the fire and the door to the forge room is Aulë.  
He is tall, taller than Estë, but he diffuses the same silvery glow. His face is all hard lines, but his eyes contain the same deep sorrow that Tauriel sees in the eyes of many Elves...including her own.  
“Stand, child,” he says, and Tauriel does so.   
He steps closer to her, looking her up and down and between her and the column, and then he sighs.  
“It is unfortunate,” he says sadly, “that of all the living things of Middle-earth that are good, only the Elves can live forever.”  
“It is,” Tauriel agrees, and he offers her what may be a sad smile.  
“Unfortunate, too,” he says, “is the fate of those immortal beings that love those destined to die.”  
Tauriel bows her head, squeezing her eyes shut tight to prevent any more tears from leaking out.  
“How many tears have you shed over him?” Aulë asks, and Tauriel sighs.  
“Countless,” she says, looking up at him, “Elves do not die naturally, and we do not forget. We had so little time.”  
“I know,” Aulë says, and then suddenly he is sitting down on a chair that was not there before.  
“I love my children,” he says, examining Tauriel shrewdly, “and yet I would have destroyed them had Eru willed it. It would have destroyed me, too, but I would have done it. By his grace they were allowed to live and thrive, but my punishment lies in the fact that they die. They are strong and brave, my children, and yet they die.”  
Tauriel does not know how to respond. She conjures Kíli’s face to her mind, for strength, and then takes a deep breath.  
“Aulë...Mahal,” she says, “please. Please, if it is in your power, let me see Kíli again.”  
Aulë, who smiled when Tauriel called him by the name that his children bestowed upon him, merely looks at Tauriel in silence. As she opens her mouth to speak again, he holds his hand up to silence her.  
“You are not,” he says then, “the first to come to me with this request. It is as your Kíli suspected – you were not the first of the Elves and the Dwarves to fall in love, although neither Elves nor Dwarves ever made songs of such. The two peoples lived in Middle-earth for such a long time together, the Elves above the ground and the Dwarves, my children, below it. Not one should live without the other. As the Elves are leaving the world, so too are the Dwarves. But they do not step into a ship and sail away to a land where they may live and prosper for eternity. Instead they are dying and less are being born. Very soon there shall be no Elves left in the world of Middle-earth except as archaic spirits, and just as soon my children shall too dwell no longer but in song, and story, and myth. The time of the dominion of men is upon Middle-earth.”  
This is news to Tauriel.  
“I did not know that the Dwarves too are leaving the world,” she says in surprise, and Aulë nods gravely.  
“So Eru wills,” is all he says, and they both fall silent. Since he shows no signs of speaking any time soon, Tauriel turns back to the column. It has shrunk, now, and she can see all the way to the top.  
The carvings show Kíli’s life in detail, and she paces around the column observing them hungrily. She sees the fire moon that Kíli once described to her, set with a ruby in representation. She sees the council at Bilbo’s hobbit hole, and she feels a strange pang of melancholy to see a place which she has been and now left behind. She wonders if it exists now. A little further down, she sees their capture and imprisonment, and this time smiles when she sees herself instead of cries. Seeing this column in its entirety makes her happy, she realises suddenly, as it is irrefutable proof that Kíli existed and lived and loved.   
“I shall think on your request,” Aulë says suddenly, and Tauriel turns. Aulë stands again, looking down at her.  
“Your request to be reunited with Kíli,” he clarifies. “Leave this place, and wander Valinor for as many seasons as you can resist. You have friends here, now. Eternity is a long time. When you can resist no longer, return to me here, and I shall tell you of my decision.”  
“Thank you,” Tauriel says, bowing deeply. Aulë nods, and suddenly Tauriel is standing in darkness again. Before her, the great doors are opening inwards, and she walks towards them filled with new hope.


	4. Part III

The first thing that Tauriel does is go to find Legolas. It takes some time, but when she finds him he is in the city of Tirion, sitting in a large and comfortable hall surrounded by many people. In there are Bilbo and Frodo, the dwarf Gimli, Gandalf and other Elves from their Kingdom of Mirkwood, and Tauriel’s heart rejoices. She is greeted loudly and gladly, and introduces herself to Gimli, and she joins them in their tales. After awhile, she and Bilbo make eye contact, and he nods imperceptibly towards the door.  
She stands and excuses herself, looking meaningfully at Legolas, and steps outside. A few moments later, Bilbo joins her, and they embrace warmly.  
“Legolas told me where you left to,” he says, “and I wanted to know how it went.”  
Tauriel sits on the steps to the hall, patting the space beside her. When Bilbo is seated beside her, she tells him, in detail, everything that happened within the Halls of Mandos. Throughout the duration of her tale, Bilbo looks thoughtful.   
“So,” he says when she’s finished, “he might let you see Kíli again?”  
“I can only hope,” Tauriel says earnestly, and Bilbo frowns.  
“He told you to wait as long as you can before returning?”  
“Yes.”  
“That,” Bilbo announces, “just smacks of being a test!”  
“Yes,” Tauriel sighs, “I was thinking the same thing.”  
“The question is,” Bilbo says, “does he want you to actually wait as long as you can, or does he want you to come back straight away?”  
“I don’t know!” Tauriel cries, “I can’t possibly know the mind of one of the Valar!”  
“Ah yes,” Bilbo sighs in agreement, and settles into thoughtful silence.  
“I think I know what I’m going to do,” Tauriel says softly, and Bilbo turns to her.  
“He told me that I wasn’t the first to come to him with such a request – I wish to see if I can find any of these other elves who have loved dwarves. I shall search until I find one, and then I shall return to Aulë.”  
“An excellent idea!” Bilbo exclaims, and Tauriel laughs.  
“Yes,” she says, “I rather think so, too!”

A few days later Tauriel takes leave of all her friends, and sets off across Valinor in search of any elf who has ever loved a dwarf. Many seasons have passed before she comes across Celían, the first of all the Elves that Tauriel met upon disembarking from the ship in Valinor.  
Tauriel asks her if she knows of any Elf who ever loved or was loved by a Dwarf, and Celían frowns.   
“When I called Middle-earth my home, I lived in a land at the foot of the Mountains of Mist, outside of the gates of the great Dwarf Kingdom of Moria,” she says, and Tauriel’s eyes widen.  
Celían looks shrewdly at Tauriel, and then she smiles.  
“You were born after I left for Valinor,” she says, “and I know very little of the histories that came after. Come, sit, and tell me everything you know about the fate of men and of elves...and of the dwarves.”  
They sit together in a glade in the centre of a small wood, beside a merrily bubbling stream, and Tauriel tells Celían all that she knows of the history of Middle-earth. When she is finished, Celían prompts her for her own story. She smiles knowingly when Tauriel tells of the dwarf contingent captured in Mirkwood and even more so when Tauriel talks of Kíli specifically.  
“Erebor,” she says, rolling the word around on her tongue, “the last great dwarf kingdom of Middle-earth, you say? And Moria was the first.”  
“None dared venture into Moria, at the time when Erebor was reclaimed,” Tauriel tells her, “for the Balrog within, Durin’s bane. I knew not what it was at that time. It is only now, since I have been in the undying lands and spoken with my dear friend Legolas, and Frodo Bilbo’s nephew, and Gandalf known as Mithrandir that I know of this.”  
“The Dwarves left Moria after my time,” Celían sighs, and lowers her head.  
Tauriel does too, for the weight of history is pressing upon them.  
“You asked,” Celían says after a long silence, “if I know or knew of any Elves who loved Dwarves. I tell you now that I do.”  
Tauriel looks up sharply, and Celían smiles sadly.  
“When I lived in Middle-earth, I knew one called Caladrian. He was especially close with the Dwarves of Moria, being a smith himself, and he spent much time within that great Kingdom, learning their art and sharing his own skills. He was of the Noldor, you see, and descendent of the great Elvish smiths of Gondolin. The King of Moria at that time had three daughters, which was rare and miraculous threefold, as Dwarrowdams have always been rare.”  
Tauriel remembers Kíli telling him stories of all the men who wished to court his mother, and smiles.  
“One of his daughters, Dumí, had a great interest in crafting beautiful jewellery, but wished to learn also skills of smithing. Caladrian and she used to meet to teach other skills – Caladrian taught her smithing in both Elvish and Dwarvish fashion, and Dumí taught him how to work gold and silver and precious stones. It was only to be expected that they would eventually fall in love. The King told them that they could not be married, for Dwarrowdam were rare and coveted, but he did not prevent them from courting. It was not miraculous enough, in that time, for any songs to be written.   
And then one day, there was an accident in the mines. One of the forges imploded, and many lives were lost. Dumí perished, and Caladrian was lucky to escape with his life. But he began to fade and so he departed into the West, which in those days was not so separate from the world of Middle-earth. I followed not long after. He came to me and we spent many days talking, and then he told me that Aulë had told him to wander the land of Valinor for as long as he could before returning, in order to ponder Caladrian’s request to see Dumí again.”  
Tauriel’s breath is caught in her throat and her heat is hammering.  
“What happened to Caladrian?” she asks quickly, “please tell me, did Aulë approve his request?”  
“I know not,” Celían says, but then she smiles, “I have not seen Caladrian in many an age, but I suppose that he must have been allowed into the Halls of Mandos, because he has been seen by no one at all.”  
Tauriel sits back, thoughts dashing through her mine quickly almost too quickly for her to keep up.   
“So I must choose,” she says quietly, “between Kíli and all else.”  
Celían nods.  
“I believe that that is the choice that Caladrian made, yes,” Celían agrees.  
“Is he worth it?” she then asks.  
Tauriel thinks back on it. She remembers the night outside looking at the stars, and the phrase strange on her tongue. Star crossed lovers.  
“Yes,” she answers with surety, “yes, he is worth it.”

She encounters Gandalf on her way back to Tirion in search of Legolas. She doesn’t notice him at first, because he’s sitting on a rock at the edge of the road smoking his pipe, and is obscured by a large holly bush. His call makes her jump visibly.  
“Gandalf!” she says, turning around, “you scared me!”  
“Oh, that was the plan,” he says, getting to his feet and strolling toward her, smiling.  
“It’s good to see you, Tauriel.”  
“It’s barely been any time at all since we last spoke,” she says to him, and he smiles.  
“Ah yes...but, if I’m not mistaken, this is to be the last time.”  
Tauriel takes a deep breath, feels the clean air filling her lungs.  
“Yes,” she says, exhaling, “I believe that it is.”  
“You’re saying your goodbyes,” he says and she nods. He umms and ahhs and then fixes her with a beady eye.  
“It is a difficult decision that you are making, Tauriel,” he says.  
“I know,” she agrees, “I left behind everything to come here, and I am leaving behind everything again. And Kíli was the reason both times – firstly because I could not imagine a world without him, and now because I am at last able to imagine a world which does, in fact, contain him.”  
“Well,” Gandalf says, “when you put it like that...”  
Tauriel laughs and the two sit down for a while, picking berries off a nearby raspberry bush and eating them leisurely, sitting in silence.   
“Is this what it was like for all the Eldar?” Tauriel asks him, “just...drifting?”  
“I believe so,” Gandalf says, “although you must remember that I was, in fact, not around during the Elder days. I have only my extensive knowledge to rely on.”  
“Your modesty astounds, Gandalf,” Tauriel says, and he laughs.  
Tauriel is excited, and happy, and yes, a little sad, but she knows now beyond a shadow of doubt that when she returns to the Halls of Mandos, she will be reunited with Kíli until the unmaking of the world. Eternity is a long time, as Aulë said, but eternity with Kíli sounds like the sort of heaven that she always wished for.   
She leaves Gandalf with a twinge of sadness, heading towards Tirion where she knows Legolas and Bilbo to be, whilst the wizard ambles off towards Lórien.   
In Tirion upon Túna, Tauriel finds Legolas and Bilbo, Frodo and Gimli. Tearfully, she bids them all goodbye, spending longest in the arms of Legolas.  
“I shall miss you,” he says again, knowing that this time their goodbye truly will be forever... or thereabouts.   
“Until the unmaking of the world,” she whispers into his ear, and he holds her tighter.   
At last they let go of each other, and, saying to her friends a final farewell, she walks away.  
They watch her go in silence, until they can see her no longer.

Tauriel runs to the mountain inside of which Kíli waits. She feels as if she could be flying. She reaches the doors as the stars are at the height of their light, and she tips her head back to stare at the sky.  
“Farewell, stars,” she says, “sacred light. I hope to see you again, but if that is only at your end, then so be it.”  
Then she turns around and touches the doors, which swing open as expected.  
This time, she walks straight into Aulë’s chamber, and he emerges from the forge room as the doors shut finally behind her. He smiles when she bows to him, and he nods in recognition.  
“You have returned to hear my judgement,” he says and she nods.  
“I have,” she agrees.  
“This, then, is it: My children are doomed to far too short a time in the world that I created them in. The world is one of sorrow, and of suffering, and no elf, dwarf or man is exempt from this. But who am I, a loving father, to keep any of my children from happiness should they happen to find it in their short lives? Kíli was taken from the world too soon, too young, too violently. He was brought to me before his time, and for this I mourned. But now you are here, with your promise of his happiness. More than a promise – I can see, in his life, that you are honest when you say that he loves you.  
“Your happiness is, as it were, a side effect of Kíli’s. I am granting your request to be with him for him, and not for you. Do you understand this?”  
“I do,” Tauriel says.  
“Do you also understand that, in choosing to be reunited with Kíli, you cannot again leave my halls until the unmaking of the world?”  
“I do,” Tauriel says again.  
“Then so be it,” Aulë says, and Tauriel’s thoughts jump quickly to Legolas. I shall miss you, she thinks sadly. But then Aulë opens a door that was not there before, and beckons for Tauriel to enter.  
Slowly, haltingly, she does.

Before her stretches darkness. She walks forward until there is no light behind her, and no light ahead. She walks on and on, until eventually, far ahead of her, she sees a faint light. Then, she runs. Painstakingly, the light grows larger and brighter, and still Tauriel runs, faster and harder than she has ever run in her life. She suddenly realises that she is crying.  
The memories of the battle, softened by Estë’s sleep, come back to her with full vigour. The smell of blood is congealing in her nostrils, and the darkness around her is the blood of the goblins; she is drowning in it and no one can save her. She can’t scream because her throat is clogged with blood, her own this time. The light is too bright, too hot.  
A city is on fire.  
Esgaroth is burning, and it is too hot for her skin to bear. Now it is ash that clogs her nostrils and fills her lungs, and she falls to her knees, coughing and gagging and struggling to breathe. The light it too bright, so she screws her eyes shut. She’s dying, she’s going to die. She can’t fight this fire with her weapons and her tricks; there is nothing for her here but death.  
Is this what Kíli felt in his last moment? This helplessness? This terror?  
Staggering to her feet, Tauriel stumbles forward into the flame.  
But it is not flame, it is a cold bright white light, and as Tauriel steps into it, everything melts away.

She is standing on the edge of a hill. The grass is soft and cool under her feet. Above her head, the stars are twinkling. To the left, a mountain that can only be Erebor stretches to the sky. Somewhere to her right a stream bubbles.   
She looks around her, but she appears to be alone. After a few moments, she makes her way to where the thinks the stream may be, because in the very least she may as well have a drink. She’s about to kneel down and scoop up a handful of water when she hears a whistling in the distance. The sound is painfully familiar to her.   
Springing upright, she looks around like a rabbit caught in the spotlight. At first she sees nothing...but then, at the base of the hill, picking his way across the tussocks, is Kíli.  
“Kíli,” she gasps, and he looks up at her. The moon emerges from behind a hidden cloud, bathing them both in soft silver light, and Tauriel is witness to the broad and incredulous grin that spreads across his face.  
“What? Tauriel, where did...?”  
Tauriel runs towards him and he holds his arms open for her. He, being slightly shorter than her, has to stand up on tiptoes in order to catch her as she falls against him, gasping for air and the smell of him that she has almost forgotten, feeling his familiar warmth beneath her palms.  
“Tauriel, what are you doing here?” Kíli says thickly, and she can hear that he too is crying.  
“I left, after you...after you died, Kíli, I left Middle-earth and I spoke with Aulë, with Mahal, and he let me...he let me come here, to you.”  
Slowly, still holding her, Kíli sinks down onto his knees and Tauriel does the same, so they are kneeling together on the side of the hill that both of them departed from many long years before.  
“Tauriel,” Kíli says, and his voice breaks into a hoarse whisper.  
“I missed you so much,” Tauriel whispers fiercely.  
“I’m so sorry,” Kíli says, and he leans back and pries her away so that he can hold her face in his hands and look her in the eye, “I’m so sorry I left you, I’m sorry I died. It was stupid of me.”  
“You couldn’t help it,” Tauriel says, smiling through her tears. She reaches out and traces the familiar line of his jaw, his nose, his mouth, “you were defending Thorin. You were defending your home...oh, Kíli. You’d only just reclaimed Erebor.”  
“I know,” Kíli says, shaking his head a little, “It was incredibly foolish of us, of all of us. Fíli...and Thorin. We could have...no one regrets our deaths more than us, Tauriel, you must understand that.”  
“I know,” Tauriel says, “I do understand. I understand regret – and although I never have the regret of dying and never shall, I lived for what I feel may be an age in the undying lands filled to the brim with it.”  
“We’re a sorry pair, aren’t we?” says Kíli thickly, and Tauriel laughs but really she’s just crying, and then Kíli is kissing her hungrily and she kisses him back, and kneeling here on this hill under a mountain in the undying lands of Valinor in the arms of her lover who died and left her, Tauriel feels true joy. There is sadness, and regret, and bitterness too, because any being that has lived has been tainted with the brush of imperfection, but it is the fact that she can feel such happiness in spite of all the pain that makes her joy all the stronger.  
“I loved you then,” Tauriel says later, “I loved you under the real stars of that night, I love you under the stars of this. I will love you when there are no stars left in the sky, and the world has been unmade.”  
“Eternity, then,” Kíli says, stroking her hair softly, “I love you for eternity.”  
“Eternity is a long time,” Tauriel murmurs, and Kíli laughs. Pulling her closer towards him, he presses tiny kisses like butterflies all over her face.  
“Of course it is,” he agrees, laughing, “but I’d hate to spend it with anyone other than you.”

 

Fin


End file.
